Page 110 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
A lump had formed in my throat. I was barely holding on, barely keeping it together. I’d never seen my sisters like this before, and I’d never see them again—not if I didn’t leave. But even as I turned, racing down the stairs, through the Great Hall, and outside the fortress, I couldn’t shake a sinking feeling deep in my gut—that I was losing Meera. And I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THECARRIAGEDOORshutbehind me in Urtavia as my seraphim lay her beak down on the waterway, exhausted from her journey. I ran faster than I’d ever run before, my feet carrying me to the Katurium, through the winding halls, and out into the arena.
The hour had been called when I was still in flight, and I’d seen the ashvan running beside my seraphim, their hooves leaving behind blue sparks of light that faded into mist and fell like rain into the sky before evaporating.
No more than a quarter hour could have passed, making me fifteen minutes late. Usually, it took twenty minutes just for everyone to reach their seats, or to step out onto the field in their circles if they were in a five.
That hadn’t been the case tonight. There was a deafening silence and stillness as I entered the packed arena. Endless pairs of eyes watched me until every hair on my arms stood on end. I’d always known the feeling of being watched, of being put on display to be observed and judged. But this was a far greater audience than I’d ever experienced before. And a far angrier one at that.
I knew it deep inside my bones. I wasn’t just being tested tonight. I was on trial.
Torchlights lit up the night sky in fiery circles leading up the levels of the Katurium’s stadium seating. A single ashvan galloped through the sky, his hooves racing just over the fires and leaving small blue sparks above the golden-red flames. That was new. I couldn’t decide if the ashvan was solely there for my protection or as an added safety measure for the entire Katurium.
Also new was the fact that the arena’s seats were full, fuller than I’d ever seen them. Each seat was occupied by a soturion with silver-pelted armor. I didn’t have to count to know that five units of Korterian soturi, loyal to Ka Kormac, surrounded me. Five units. We were now occupied by a full legion.
Either the Imperator was behind the Emartis’s attack or he’d stationed his soturi on the borders of Elyria for a month in an encampment for this very reason, just waiting for the moment to cross the borders back into the Empire and Bamarian lands. Bastard.
On the arena’s ground, my classmates were spread across the field, each paired with their apprentices and being ordered through warm-up stretches. Soturi were everywhere, lunging, stretching, and tightening the laces on their sandals. A dozen silver circles glittered across the field, all being carefully avoided by the novices and their apprentices. Their magic hummed, calling out with a sinister force. The Katurium mage’s stave was drawn as she inspected each of the bindings she’d cast. Aemon and Dairen stood in the center of the mayhem on a small raised platform. Tonight they were dressed in full battle regalia, their armor shining beneath the torchlight. Beside them was the Imperator and the Bastardmaker.
His highness’s cold black eyes fell on me before he looked away, surveying his soldiers. I stiffened, my breath quick, uneven, and labored as the pinch in my ankle began to increase.
Still, I strode forward purposefully, crossing the arena’s track to the inner field, ignoring the pain, ignoring the speculation even as I saw Viktor and his apprentice Brockton sneer. Haleika gave a small, almost sympathetic smile from Leander’s side. I locked eyes with Aemon as I drew closer. The disappointment on his face was almost too much. But I was Lady Lyriana Batavia, Heir to the Arkasva, and I kept walking like I owned the arena, like I’d meant to be late, like I had a purpose. Because I did.
A cold breeze rustled through my hair. No, not a breeze—an aura. One far more familiar to me than I’d wanted to admit. A warm, calloused hand gripped my wrist from behind, tugging me back.
Rhyan’s energy exploded around me on contact, a hurricane of fire and ice whipping through the air.
“You’re late, and the Imperator’s here! What were you thinking? You’re scheduled to be in the center of a five and—” He froze. His green eyes widened and flashed with fury as they took in my appearance. They ran across my face, looking me up and down as his breath caught. “Gods. Lyr.” His voice was barely above a whisper. I watched as his jaw tensed and he swallowed, some emotion I didn’t recognize washing over him. “You’re hurt.” His hand ran down the length of my arm, scanning for injuries, and pulling me closer as his eyes moved slowly over my face again. “What the hell happened?”
“I…what…no.” I shook my head. “Nothing, I’m….”
Rhyan went preternaturally still. “Who did this to you?”
I shook my head. “No….no one.”
But he wasn’t listening to me. Instead, he was pulling me back, away from the crowd, away from prying eyes. Rhyan’s gaze flicked studiously to my ankle, noting the injury. He slowed, but kept us moving at a brisk pace. I tried to make up for it, to hide the pinch, but he shook his head and slowed even more.
“I’m fine,” I protested.
“You’re not fine.” His hands had wrapped with impossible gentleness around both of my wrists, careful not to apply pressure and hurt me, but firm enough that I couldn’t escape. He guided me to a private, shadowed corner. There was a marble statue there of Arkturion Athenaya. The warlordess defeated a small army of akadim terrorizing the human lands outside of Bamaria. She rode on an ashvan, depicted with his front legs kicking as Athenaya brandished her starfire blade. We moved behind her, deeper into the walled corner she kept hidden until we were completely alone, and even then, he didn’t let go of me.
“Rhyan? Stop it! What are you—?”
“Lyr, tell me what happened.” His aura cocooned me, no longer the bitter ice or raging hurricane but a calming cool darkness, more like a night sky full of stars. “Who was it? Who hurt you?”
Instantly, my pulse spiked, my wrist itching at his words. He’d spotted my injuries—injuries from Meera’s vision. “I’m fine. I tripped on my way here. All right? Let’s go. I need to get out there.”
“Lyr…you….” He shook his head. “You can’t even put weight on your right ankle without wincing. You’re not fine. There’s blood on your tunic, and,” he cupped my cheek, his touch gentle, his face so close to mine as he examined me closer, “you have a cut under your eye. It’s already swelling.”
“Because I tripped!” I tried to shake him off, to keep him from looking too closely and observing any more than he already had. “What is this? You’re so determined to prove yourself as my guard, you’re looking for things that aren’t there? Let me go!”
He released me and took a step back, but he still blocked my exit. His shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, a dark anger now pulsating through his aura. “This has nothing to do with that. Before I was your guard, I was your friend. And I protect my friends.”
I felt the shift in his aura as he spoke the words. No longer full of worry and concern; it was now infused with an unsettlingly calm, violent determination.
“When I left your apartment earlier, you were fine. Now tell me. Who did this to you?” Red burned through his cheeks as he pushed his fingers through his hair with a violence I’d never seen from him before. Something in his eyes went dark and feral. “Where is Tristan?” His voice had gone so deep, his body so still, I knew if I offered any confirmation, he’d be on the hunt, racing to track Tristan down and hurt him even with the Imperator watching. I could feel it all over his aura. The need to fight, the need to protect me.
